


Play Me Like a Marionette

by Badfish _original porn be warned_ (FishPanda)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Forced Orgasm, Kidnapping, M/M, Musicians, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsession, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Trope-Fitting Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishPanda/pseuds/Badfish%20_original%20porn%20be%20warned_
Summary: Brothers Theodore and Alexander are on top of the world, having achieved international fame and success with their indie rock band the Running Dolls. But when an obsessed “fan” kidnaps charismatic front man Alex at gunpoint during the European leg of their tour, their world turns upside down. Will Theo manage to recover his little brother before he is broken beyond repair?
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Play Me Like a Marionette

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! For those of you who are here because you’re hoping for the Warlord’s Prize 2.0, fair warning – this story may share a lot of the tags but it’s a completely different beast. Welcome back though!
> 
> For those of you who clicked on this because you just liked the summary, one point for me and also fair warning – this is the tropiest story to ever trope. I do not only embrace clichés but I fucking wallow in them. My taste is basically just pretty boy whump, with a side of noncon. Happy endings are optional, though I am currently planning on one for this story, for a given value of happy. Please pay close attention to the tags and don’t say I didn’t warn you!

“Berlin, make some noise!”

Safe behind his drums, Theo grins at the eardrum-busting screams that greet Alexander’s shout. His little brother is positively dancing on the edge of the stage, drinking in the desperation-tinged adoration that rises from the crowd like an emperor given his due. He reaches out to the grasping hands – too far away, separated by bannisters – but each section he reaches out to doubles their screams like they feel his touch on their skin.

“Thank you for choosing to spend tonight with us! Give a big shoutout to Theo on drums, Jamie on bass, and Ollie on electric guitar!” Each of the guys does a practiced little riff or roll on cue, Alex egging the crowd on with wild hand gestures. “I’m Alex, and for the next two hours, we are the Running Dolls!”

His brother always gets at least twice as much screams as the rest of them; they’re used to it by now, and none of them envy him for it. Privately – only privately, Alexander has enough of an ego as it is – Theo credits most of their success to the singer. They are talented enough musicians, and Alex has a truly fantastic voice, but there are plenty of incredibly talented musicians who never make it past the pub circle. His little brother, though, is truly that rarest of birds – magnetic, engaging, a total stage animal, oh-so-driven, and also so incredibly beautiful that people used to stop their mother on the street when they were little to coo over her youngest. He’s seen people walk into walls or the fruit display when out to the shops with him, taken in as they were by his appearance.

Alex handles it well, better than Theo himself would have managed – he’d probably either develop triple the ego or a truly debilitating obsession with his own looks. As it is, he’s meticulous in his hygiene and exercise regimen – with the money they’ve been raking in these past two years, he can afford a personal trainer and stylist – but he’ll gladly leave the magazine covers and clothing campaigns to Alex, who still delights in them like a kid with a new toy. 

Looking at his brother strutting across the stage now, shining like a diamond under the hot lights, he thinks, once again, that Alex was made for this world, made to be adored by thousands and thousands of people all shouting his name in ecstasy. On anyone else, that leather trousers and sheer shirt combo would’ve looked ridiculous; Alex looks like he just walked off the catwalks of Paris, his heeled boots and long hair completing the picture of a young rock god. Even his sweat makes him look somehow gilded instead of gross; too angelic to be a devil, far too tempting to be an angel. Speaking of which…

“Thank you! We love you all! This is Angel Rising, sing along if you know the words!” 

As Alex launches into the title song off their new album, Theo glances over at Jamie and catches his eye; the stage lights hide it, but Theo fancies he can detect a hint of a blush on the bassist’s dark skin. A few months ago, when the two of them were hanging out at the studio and sharing a blunt and a beer (in truth, a little too much of both), Jamie drunkenly confessed that he wrote Angel Rising based on a memory he had of Alexander coming out of the ocean during their last Caribbean vacation. Theo had laughed himself sick, and then promised to never tell Alex in exchange for a truly impressive favor he has yet to exert. 

The show is one of their best ever, at least on this current tour; not one thing goes wrong, a rarity on these arena gigs, and Theo feels unusually in sync with the rest of the band members. The crowd knows all their songs, even the new ones, and Alex feeds off their energy, sparking on stage like a live wire. He dances his way to Jamie before shimmying over to Ollie, grinding playfully against him and provoking an even higher caliber of screams. 

Those two are especially popular together, with a small but incredibly vocal part of their fandom persistently arguing they are actually involved. Theo has seen the tumbler posts. And the fanart. And the photoshop manips. He thinks people mostly just like the way they look together, Alex with his lanky frame and dark curls against Ollie’s surfer-boy good looks. Ollie has had a girlfriend for almost a year now, a Victoria Secret model four years his senior, though the way the guitarist’s gaze tends to linger on Alex makes Theo suspects there is at least a little bit of truth to all the conspiracy talk.

Thankfully, there is no meet and greet or preteens with VIP passes after the show. Theo likes to meet their fans, is incredibly grateful to them for their devotion and enthusiasm, but the last thing he wants to do, keyed up as he is, is be stuck in a little room for an hour mugging for pictures with over-grabby teens.

None of them bother with a shower, changing their shirts and in Jamie’s case dunking their head under the faucet. Then they head out and pile into a van, Alex cuddling close to Theo despite their less-than-optimal odor situation and starting his post-show ritual of massaging out the cramped muscles and tendons in the drummer’s hands. 

“Thanks,” Theo murmurs, starting to relax bit by bit. He never feels it during the shows, too hyped on adrenaline, but afterwards the fact that he just spent the past two hours furiously bashing sticks makes itself known fast. Alex sends him a quick smile, dark eyebrows furrowed cutely in concentration. 

They manage to get into the hotel with just a few stops for autographs, and soon they reach their floor and part way, each heading off to whatever it is they do to take the edge off. Theo wouldn’t be surprised to see Jamie come down tomorrow with one or more lady friends. The bassist has a little black book of past and potential hookups he updates and makes use of meticulously, arranged according to city, age, and tastes in bed. The ladies like his talented fingers, is what he likes to proclaim loudly at every chance; the only correct response is to pelt him with whatever is closest at the time, be it food or shoes or on one particularly memorable occasion, Ollie.

When they were just starting out, Jamie and Ollie used to share one room while Theo and Alex shared another; they were short on money, and anyway Alex was only sixteen and their mother was very insistent on just what Theo keeping an eye on his younger brother meant. Now that they all have more money than they know what to do with – Theo and Alex share a five-bedroom house in Primrose Hill, a two-floor penthouse in Manhattan, and four sports cars between them – they no longer need to share a room. Alex still leaves the connecting door between them open on his side as he strips down and slips into the decadently powerful shower.

Sure enough, only a few minutes pass before the smoky glass doors of the shower open and a slim body slips inside. Alex immediately huddles close under the hot water, letting out a happy sigh as the heat starts relaxing his muscles. 

“You have your own shower in your own room, you know,” Theo reminds him, but he’s joking and Alex knows it. He has long since stopped fighting against this thing between them, just as helpless as the rest of the world against Alex’s enchanting face and wide oceanic eyes; the teasing curve of his lush mouth and the cheeky dimple in his left cheek; the pale, endless expanse of his flawless skin, deceptively smooth over sharp clavicles and hipbones and even sharper elbows and knees.

Ever since Alexander was born and their mother handed his bundled form, red-faced and squalling, to four-year-old Theo, Alex fit in his arms. Now, when he’s twenty and taller by half a head and slippery as a seal under the pounding water, he still fits just as perfectly. Alex turns in his arms, shooting him a faux-demure look under thick lowered lashes even as he grinds back against Theo’s rapidly thickening cock. “Wash my hair?”

Dry, Alex’s dark hair falls in luscious waves down to his shoulders. Wet, it passes his shoulder blades, making him look like some sort of water nymph straight out of Greek mythology. Theo massages in shampoo followed by conditioner – some luxury brand recommended by their hair stylist that smells like citrus and is the reason Theo had experienced the most humiliating boner of his life over their nan’s orange-and-marmalade cake last Christmas, and God, Alex had taken the piss for ages – before attending to his own, much quicker routine. He keeps his own dark curls longish on top and faded on the sides, and as such much less demanding.

Alex gives him a quick kiss in thanks before starting on his own, much more involved ritual – he likes scrubs of all sorts, each one nicer smelling than the next, and swears his life changed when he discovered the existence of exfoliation mitts. Theo appreciates the effort – Alex does have exceptionally smooth and blemish-free skin – but not enough to do it himself.

He hops out of the shower first, sinking gratefully into the plushest bathrobe he has ever worn before wandering out of the bathroom in search of the room service menus. By the time he finishes looking them over – he thinks he’ll go for some soup and cheese toasties – Alex has finished as well. The robe swallows him up almost comically but leaves his ankles exposed, and he has bundled up his wet hair in a towel in what they both referred to as children as ‘mum style.’ 

“I want a burger. And fries. And a chocolate milkshake,” he announces, draping himself over Theo’s back and clinging like a limpet. 

Theo can’t really send him an eye role like he wants to, caught in place as he is, but he makes sure to convey his annoyance with his tone. “You’re not going to be twenty forever, you know. At some point you’ll have to stop living off just sugar and grease.”

Alex flicks his ear. “Never. I’m the next stage of human evolution. Also, you’ll still love me even if I get fat and can’t fit into any of my leather trousers.”

That, Theo is forced to admit, is all too true. Still, he attempts and succeeds to argue Alex down to a fruit smoothie instead.

They cuddle together on the bed as they wait for the food, exchanging lazy kisses and lazier touches. As much as Theo loves performing, times like these are his favorite; just the two of them, calm and content, cocooned from the world and other people’s greedy eyes and hands.

At the knock to their door, Alex springs away, as energetic as ever. He pauses for a second; then, sending Theo a wink, shakes his hair out of the towel and combs it into shape with his fingers. Next, he messes with the front of his robe, pulling it open so that it hangs off one delicate shoulder enticingly. Only then does he open the door, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Hi,” he breathes at the server.

The poor boy looks completely dumbstruck. His face flushes a brilliant red, and his mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound manages to make its way out. Theo smothers a laugh.

His cheeky brother grabs the cart, pulling it into the room and sending the server a coy look from under his lashes. “Thanks!” he says, still in that low, husky voice. Alex has not smoked a day in his life, but both Theo and Ollie do and he can imitate that sexy rasp pretty well. 

“Tip, Alex,” Theo reminds him. Material for the spank bank doesn’t quite count, after all.

“Oh, right,” Alex says, bending down and making a show of rummaging in Theo’s discarded jeans for his wallet. His robe falls open nearly to his navel, exposing almost his entire hairless torso, including his peaked nipples; below the knot, the robe opens almost to a hipbone, revealing a creamy, narrow thigh. The server almost falls into the room as he strains forward for a better view, catching himself on the door frame. He then almost falls on his ass in alarm when Alex springs back up, a few bills clutched in his hand. The robe is really only covering the absolute essentials by now, and the poor server looks on the verge of a heart attack.

“Here you go! Have a good night!” Alex hands him the tip, waiting a few seconds for a response. When none comes, he pushes the bills into a pocket, pats the frozen server on the shoulder, and closes the door in his face. 

A few seconds pass, and then they both burst into loud, gasping laughter. 

“You’re awful,” Theo manages to choke out, laughing so hard tears stream out of his eyes. “That was really cruel, Alex!”

“I made his night,” his brother insists, shedding the robe completely before taking a flying tackle at the bed. Theo abruptly finds himself with an armful of sweet-smelling, warm boy, naked as the day he was born. Alex settles on his chest, smiling down at him before leaning down and licking his nose.

“Fun as that was, food is here, and I’m starving.”

*****

The next morning, Theo wakes up first. As usual, Alex is starfished over most of the bed, dark hair a tangled mess, one hand holding on to Theo’s wrist even in sleep. What little sun that managed to find its way between the heavy curtains tinges his long eyelashes gold. He’s snoring – soft little whistles that he’ll deny until he’s blue in the face – and Theo’s chest hurts, he loves him so much. He slides closer, gathering Alex into his arms, and without waking, Alex cuddles close, tucking his head under Theo’s chin. The smell of citrus and vanilla bean lotion wafts up his nose. 

A glance at the bedside clock shows they still have half an hour before they need to get up, which is just as well. At night, Alex has the energy of three kids hopped up on sugar, but he’s terrible to get up in the morning. With years of trial and error, Theo discovered the best way to do so is a combination of cuddles, kisses, and gentle below-the-belt stroking, all of which he is more than happy to provide.

This morning, Alex comes to rather more easily than usual. His nose scrunches in annoyance as Theo places soft kisses all over his face; eyes still firmly closed, he pouts, and Theo obliges with a deeper, more thorough kiss, morning breath be damned. He feels Alex gradually become more involved, thin fingers sneaking to grasp at his hair. When he finally retreats, he is treated to a beaming smile, which almost immediately becomes a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Morning,” Alex murmurs finally. He’s rubbing at his eye with a fist, looking so young that the remnants of the guilt Theo usually manages to suppress rear their ugly head again. Then Alex throws a leg and an arm over Theo, pressing their morning wood together, and Theo dedicates himself to more important matters.

There have been many, many speculations made about how Alex is in bed. Theo tries to avoid reading anything on the subject because it makes his blood boil, but he can’t avoid everything. Alex was sixteen when they were signed and started working on their first album and touring festivals and small venues; he was eighteen when their single Smells Like Lightning and the accompanying MV exploded on the charts, taking them straight to Billboard #1 and international fame. Suddenly everyone wanted a piece of the Running Dolls, and more than anything, they wanted a piece of Alex. Beautiful, androgenous, and by his own admittance unlabeled, the tabloids and gossip rags couldn’t get enough of him, and neither could anyone else. 

He’s seen some truly filthy things written about his brother. Infuriatingly, too many people still equated queerness with promiscuity, and coupled with his rock god persona and slightly eccentric clothing style the general consensus seemed to be that his brother likes it rough, wild, and frequent, with a side of orgies and BDSM. 

They couldn’t be further from the truth. As far as Theo knows, aside from some experimental kisses and heavy petting in school, Alex has never been romantically or sexually interested in anyone but Theo; and even with Theo, he likes it sweet and soft and gentle, seemingly content to spend most of their time together kissing and cuddling. He likes hand jobs well enough, though when they have time his favorite way to orgasm is to ride Theo’s thigh. Once in a blue moon, he likes to be fingered very tenderly. They’ve tried penetrative sex only once, and Alex hated it so much Theo never brought it up again.

At first, when he cottoned on to Alex’s interest in him, at age fifteen, he tried everything he could do to steer him away, attempting to be understanding and cold and downright mean in turns. All that managed to do was open up a divide that never existed before between them, hurting them both and yet not dimming the strange new tension that sprung up between them in the slightest. 

When Alex was seventeen and Theo was twenty-one – after they had almost managed to fuck up their shot as professional musicians as well as their relationship – his little brother finally pinned him down for a talk and laid it all on the table. He was old enough to know what he wanted, he said, but it was okay that Theo didn’t feel the same – he just wanted his brother back. Theo folded like a stack of cards. He wasn’t built to deny Alex anything for long, though he still insisted they wait until his little brother turned 18 before they progressed beyond kissing.

Now, with Alex resplendent above him, panting and backlit by sunlight, he can’t find it in himself to regret anything, occasional conscience pangs be damned. 

They eat breakfast-for-lunch in just their underwear (it’s the same server from yesterday, and he looks distinctly disappointed when it’s Theo that opens the door, attempting to peer into the room over his shoulder discreetly). After that, Alex excuses himself to his own room for his various moisturizers and perfumes. Theo brushes his teeth, washes his face, and giving himself a sniff and deeming the smell okay, dabs on a bit of cologne and heads through the connecting door as well.

They don’t have a show tonight, but they do have two interviews and a tv appearance before they move on to Paris tomorrow, and their small army of helpers descends to get them primped and ready. Though they each have their own preferences, having stylists and personnel shoppers has certainly taken them to the next level, image wise. Alex, of course, is a stylist’s dream, but Jamie has always been interested in fashion, and his streetwear and couture combo tends to pop up on quite a few best-dressed lists. Ollie and Theo… well, Alex and Jamie tend to call them basic. Theo always answers that he’s classy, thank you very much, to which Alex likes to say he’s about as classy as a vodka-redbull. 

Today, their stylist Emilia has laid out a jeans-turtleneck-blazer mix in muted colors that even Alex seems to approve of, brushing his hands across the lapels and complementing the breadth of Theo’s shoulders under it. A bit of product in his hair, some dabs of concealer under his eyes and on an unfortunate chin spot that popped up overnight, and he’s ready to go. 

Both Ollie and Jamie wander in with their own team members soon after, while Alex is still debating his own wardrobe choices; they seem nonchalant, but they always manage to time their arrival to when Alex is still in his underwear; Theo sees right through them. Ollie is dressed similar to him, just in colors more suited to his blonde-and-bronzed complexion, while Jamie somehow manages to pull off a yellow-and-black ridged leather jacket over a black hoodie and designer trackies. 

Eventually, Alex and Emilia decide on what at this point might be his official uniform, skinny black jeans – he has around 10 almost identical pairs, all tailored to his lanky frame, and watching him attempt to wriggle into them is truly a riveting show. A faded vintage band tee – it actually might be one of Theo’s – is coupled with a flower-embroided army-green bomber jacket to complete the look. 

Their hairstylist parts his hair off-center, braiding the smaller side tightly close to the scalp so that it almost resembles an undercut and leaving the rest to flow free in femme-fatale like waves over his left ear and cheekbone. A dab of lip balm – his current favorite tastes like cherries, Alex knows from fond personal experience – and they’re out the door. 

The interviews, which are held at one of the hotel’s empty suits, go well enough. The first one is with a lovely lady they met a few times before, and she is both professional and friendly, making sure to split her questions equally between the members and focus more on their new album and tour than on their personal lives. The second is a young and very coifed woman about their age, who blushes terribly under her makeup every time she has to meet someone’s eyes. Sometimes they like to toy with such interviewers, but she’s so obviously mortified they collectively decide to take pity on her.

The TV appearance… is not the highlight of their day. Theo likes performing, enjoy attention well enough, but there is always something horribly artificial and voyeuristic about these kind of talk shows. To make matters worse, the 40-something host is beyond sleezy, undressing Alex with his eyes and disguising his increasingly inappropriate questions with “your fans want to know!” 

In between he deigns to send some questions Ollie’s way – strictly to do with Camila, his model girlfriend – and Jimmie he asks about his yearly ‘number.’ He’s so self-centered that when he inquires about Alex’s type and Alex answers “decent people,” the jab flies straight over his head. At one point he even reaches out to grab Alex’s knee as he talks, and seems surprised to find himself blocked by a grim-faced bassist.

The four of them are beyond pissed by the time the segment ends. It’s not the first time interviewers treated them like this and it won’t be the last, and currently, it’s only a small comfort to know this guy will be blacklisted. Sadly, Alex is used to being thought of as just a pretty face with no real substance, but usually people at least acknowledge the fact that he’s a musician, that being his claim to fame. His eyes are blazing as he storms backstage, his mouth pinched like he sucked on a lemon, and people hurriedly jump out of his way lest they get trampled. 

Theo is, at this point, ready to hit someone, preferably the host, and their bandmates are not far behind. The first time they met Alex – coming to visit Theo during the summer holls after their first year together at uni – they reacted like most people who meet his little brother for the first time do. A few slaps over the head and rather more numerous whispered threats later, they calmed down (or at least learned to keep it to themselves) and started to view him more as a little brother – and yes, the irony is not lost on Theo. In the years since, the three of them have acted as a rather efficient Alex protection squad, and when they can’t protect him – such as when a sleazy middle-aged man is asking him whether he goes commando under his jeans on live television – it puts them in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

The ride back to the hotel is tense, to say the least. Their manager, after assuring them she will be having words with the network, wisely chooses to sit in front and leave them to stew in the back alone. Alex is silent and rigid, though he does not shake off Theo’s arm as he slides in next to him. Jamie is typing furiously on his phone – no doubt composing a series of scathing tweets intended to sic the entire fandom on Mr. sleezeball. Ollie is breathing slowly with his eyes closed, fingers jumping in agitation on his knees.

They are almost at the hotel when Ollie suddenly straightens. “Fuck this,” he announces. “This is our last half-free day in two weeks, we’re not going to give that dickhead the satisfaction of ruining it. Gather all the alcohol from your minibar and meet me at my room; we’re having a hot tub party – swimsuits not optional, James! And then in the evening we’re going to hit the clubs and get completely shitfaced.”

*****

The descend on their club of choice in much better moods, having spent the last six hours alternatively drinking and soaking up the alcohol with fries and bratwurst and burgers while marathoning Dr. Who on the huge television in Ollie’s suite. Their security detail for the night – Paul and Ernie, two of six rotating body guards – keep a close but discreet distance. 

Being able to cut in line is definitely a perk of fame, as is the access to the VIP floor and the three waitresses that materialize as soon as they sit down. The cordoned-off area is mostly filled with people they are unfamiliar with, though Theo does recognize a model who presented the Running Dolls with an award last year. She wiggles her fingers at him in response to his wave, but seems more interested in the man she’s with than in coming over to say hi.

The night soon descends into a warm haze of alcohol. Even Ollie, who has the constitution of an ox, is wavering in his seat. Alex, who has been mainlining margaritas like a pro, is giggly and pliant in Theo’s lap, half-comatose. 

“Right, I need a smoke and some fresh air,” Theo announces, blinking blearily. He attempts to move Alex out of his lap without jostling him.

“I’m coming with,” Alex shakes himself awake. “Fuck, that last one hit hard.”

“The last four hit hard,” Theo corrects him as they stumble down the stairs and towards the back entrance, half propping each other up and half clinging to the other for balance. Paul follows behind, eyes roving over the crowd.

The cool air is like a blast of returning sanity. They wander away from the door, a few meters further into the little alley behind the club, leaning on the grimy walls without a care for dirtying their clothes. Paul positions himself closer to the mouth of the alley as Theo fumbles and drops two cigarettes, finally managing to light a third one and take a drag in relief.

“Why do I always make the mistake of trying to match Ollie shot for shot?” he complains. “Five years, and I never learn.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re stupid,” Alex tells him helpfully. 

“Oi, you little bugger!” Theo retaliates by pinching Alex’s waist where he’s surprisingly ticklish, eliciting a high-pitched shriek as he curls in on himself for protection. They’re still scuffling and laughing when a dark van pulls to a stop at the mouth of the alley.

It all happens so fast. 

Two hulking figures in dark clothes and ski masks jump out of the van. There’s a sharp pop, almost drowned out by the music coming from the club, and Paul crumples to the dirty asphalt. Then Theo and Alex are staring directly at the muzzles of two guns.

“You, pretty boy, into the van,” one of the gunmen orders in heavily accented English. He grabs Alex’s arm and starts pulling the dazed singer towards the car, weapon trained on Theo. The moment Theo makes a move to go after him, the second gunman swings. Pain explodes at his temple as he falls down on his hands and knees.

Struggling to get back up, he dimly registers Alex’s flailing limbs being forced into the van, and the doors closing. Then the car is gone, and Theo is left alone in the alley with the cooling body of his bodyguard and no Alex.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was the first part! What do you think? I’ve already started on the next part so expect it in a week or so, depending on how busy work will be. I’m still not sure whether this will be a two-part story or a three-part, I have the general outline plotted but tend to figure out the actual details as I write them.
> 
> In the next installment: Alex wakes up in a strange, locked room and meets his kidnapper; Theo leaves no stone unturned as he attempts to get his brother back. The story will significantly ramp up regarding the more explicit and sexual tags, so please be ready for that if you decide to read on.


End file.
